


Morphine and Hope

by HelloWorld1035



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hospitals, John gets hurt, M/M, Not really though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloWorld1035/pseuds/HelloWorld1035
Summary: John gets shot on a case and, while drugged up at the hospital, does something Sherlock never expected





	Morphine and Hope

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first published fic, so I apologize for any errors in spelling, grammar, characterization, etc. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock stood above the man he had just knocked out at the scene of a particularly interesting crime involving soda cans and a cat when he heard a shot ring from the room next door and a sharp cry in John's voice. His brain quickly registered what these sounds meant, and he ran to the source. He found a man, unconscious and most likely dead at one end, and John laying at the other. Shock faded to panic and, before he could feel anything more, he had called 911 and was attempting to stop blood loss from the bullet wound. John had been shot near the heart, and Sherlock knew very well how close it was to being immediately fatal. He managed, however, to keep his composure until he heard ambulance sirens. Paramedics loaded John into the vehicle and, after a glance at Sherlock, allowed him to join. He was able to give any information the responders needed, but was pushed away once the team reached the hospital. A few hours and a visit from Lestrade later, a doctor walked out of John's operating room. His posture indicated good news, though Sherlock was careful not to get his hopes up until the young man confirmed his hypothesis that the operation was successful and that John was okay. Passed out on morphine, but okay. The man barely finished his speech before Sherlock began.  
“What room?”  
“308. I don't think he's ready for visitors quite yet-”  
Sherlock didn't stay to hear the end of that sentence. He was already halfway to room 308. He finally made it and walked in as quietly as he could. He sat in the chair near the bed and watched as John's face moved in peaceful slumber. Nearly an hour had passed this way when Sherlock saw his flatmate begin to move, then open his eyes. After a second, John registered who he was looking at and began pushing himself up, using what little strength he had.  
“John, how are-”  
Sherlock's words were cut off by John's lips against his. He was so surprised he almost forgot how to breathe, disbelieving in this reality, until he remembered where they were and gently pushed John back onto to hospital bed.  
“John, I don't think you're fully aware, and I don't think you'll remember this later. Correct?”  
John giggled. “You're amazing, fantastic…” His words began to fall off.  
“Shh now, get some sleep.”  
John slept for the next few hours, with Sherlock watching him and attempting to piece together his motivation for the earlier event. He concluded that it was most likely whatever drugs he was on mixed with relief of being alive. He had a few other theories, and wanted to test them when his friend awoke. In any case, all of that was forgotten when John regained consciousness, slowly, until he finally had enough strength to sit up and properly look at Sherlock.  
“We're in a hospital,” he said when he spoke.  
“Yes, John.”  
“My chest hurts.”  
“Yes, John.”  
“We were on a case.”  
“Yes.”  
“And I got shot.”  
“Yes.”  
“And I kissed you.”  
“...Yes.”  
“Are you mad?”  
“Why would I be?”  
“Because, I dunno, you've never shown an interest in anyone.”  
“Just because an interest is never shown, John, does not mean it's not there.” Sherlock was verging into dangerous territory, but he did need to test theories with experiments, and experiments were often dangerous.  
“Sherlock, you can't speak too complicatedly right now, I'm still drugged up.”  
“Fine. I was saying that you may be wrong about me not wanting anyone.”  
“Oh, ok.” He began searching his brain for anyone Sherlock might have been attracted to, when he reached what seemed to be the only possible conclusion.  
“It was Irene, wasn't it?”  
Sherlock wasn't shocked to hear these words, though he was a bit disappointed to know that he would, indeed, have to spell everything out for the other man.  
“No, John, it most certainly wasn't Irene.”  
“Then who?” John's questioning and vulnerable face peered at him, and Sherlock decided not to lie anymore.  
“You, you bloody idiot. You.”  
“Sherlock. Did I hear you right? Did you just say that you like me?”  
“Closer to 'love,’ but yes, I did say that.”  
John's silence brought him to the worst possible conclusion, that his feeling weren't reciprocated, and that he had just lost his only friend.  
“I'll be out of Baker Street in a day or two. I'm assuming you won't want me around anymore after that.”  
“For a genius, you really are an idiot.”  
“You don't have to remind me. I should probably be going.”  
He began to stand when John spoke.  
“Sit,” he commanded.  
Sherlock complied, but refused to look the other man in the eyes.  
“Look at me.”  
Sherlock turned to face John, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.  
“Sherlock, you can't leave me. You're the most amazing person I know. I don't want to think about where I'd be if I didn't meet you. Plus, I haven't gotten to kiss you while I'm fully conscious.”  
Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise.  
“Does that mean…”  
“Yes it does, you idiot.”  
With that, John pulled the taller man toward him into a slow, intimate kiss that was much overdue.


End file.
